Enduring Love
by SylvieT
Summary: A look into Grissom and Sara's developing relationship, this time surrounding events from episode 7.18 Empty Eyes.


A/N: I guess this is just another look into Grissom and Sara's developing relationship, this time surrounding events from episode 7.18 _Empty Eyes_. Some dialogue is gratefully borrowed from that episode and sadly is not mine.

I know it's been a long time since the episode aired and that some of you might have been expecting an update on _A Guilty Mind_ instead, but well, this came to me and, as it's been a while since an idea has popped into my head like that, I thought I'd go with it.

To Maura UK – thank you for rereading all my stories and leaving such kind words in your reviews. I couldn't think of another way to thank you since you're a guest reviewer, but know that I'm very grateful.

I hope you'll all enjoy and share your thoughts on the story, and thank you as always for reading.

* * *

Enduring Love.

* * *

Keeping his eyes on the screen, Grissom reached his hand into the box of popcorn Sara was holding and smiled when it collided with hers. His smile widening, he turned toward her. She was watching him, a happy glint in her eyes, and he winked. Giving her head a shake, she pushed her hand past his, grabbing a handful of popcorn, and turned back toward the screen. How long had it been since they'd caught a movie and been so carefree together?

His month teaching at Williams had done him the world of good. He'd returned revitalised, reinvigorated even, ready to take up the challenge of running Grave again. For a month, he'd left the ugliness of his work behind and enjoyed the beauty of what Massachusetts had to offer. He hadn't regretted his decision to go. And yet when he'd told Warrick that he'd missed Vegas he hadn't been lying. By Vegas, he'd meant Sara of course, because he had missed her – more than he thought he would. His time away, instead of pulling them apart, had brought them closer, instead of weakening their love and connection, had strengthened them.

He'd hit the ground running on his return though, the issue with Mike Keppler first, but also a string of high profile cases, without forgetting of course the return of the Miniature Killer, had kept him – them – busy and had meant that they hadn't been able to see as much of each other as he would have liked. Still, he hoped that this little early evening treat before shift was the first of many where they could spend a little quiet, undisturbed time together, not cooped up at home.

They were two-thirds of the way through the film when Grissom's phone vibrated in his pocket. Startling, he straightened up in his seat, then gingerly removed his arm from around Sara's shoulders and discreetly reaching for the device and his reading glasses checked the text. His heart sank. It was from Brass, and it didn't bear good news.

Multiple 420 – 3376 Monterey Avenue, Green Valley. You're going to need reinforcement.

He gave a long sigh, then tapped a quick _On way_ back, before he put his phone and glasses away and hesitating only briefly turned toward Sara.

"We got to go?" she asked, already reaching for her purse by her feet.

Looking contrite, he nodded his head. "Sorry."

"Hey. Don't worry about it."

She gave him a smile and they pushed to their feet. Grissom felt for her hand and, half-bent, they quickly and as unobtrusively as possible made their way out of the dark theatre and into the busy street. She was still holding the half-empty box of popcorn and she ditched it in the nearest trashcan.

"Got murder?" she asked, her brow arched, her tone playful as she turned back toward him.

"'Fraid so," he replied as, his hand in the small of her back, they walked briskly toward the adjacent car lot where he'd parked his car. "Multiple deaths in Green Valley."

Sara's expression darkened. "You want me to come with?"

They crossed the lot, soon reaching his car. "It's your night off."

"And?" She gave his side a gentle nudge. "That way we get to spend it together."

He sighed, pondered his reply, but eventually nodded his head. "All right, but can I drop you at yours on the way so you can get your car?" Wincing on realising how crass he had sounded, he stopped dead in his tracks. "Honey, I'm sorry," he said, and Sara stopped too. "I didn't mean it the way it came out."

She touched her hand to his face, gave him a tender smile. "I know."

His mind already on the case, he gave her an absent nod. "I'm going to head straight there, call Warrick on the way. Can you grab a truck from the lab?"

"Sure."

"Sorry," he went on, giving his head a shake and her a stiff smile. "It's not the end to our date I'd planned." He tried a brighter smile, and reaching for her hands gave them a squeeze.

She lifted a mild shoulder. "Hey, it's the job. I get it."

Grissom nodded his head, and after checking the coast was clear softly touched his lips to her cheek. "Thank you."

Sara lifted a playful, questioning brow and, after once again checking they weren't being watched, he dutifully kissed her on the mouth.

"You're welcome," she said. "The movie wasn't all that great anyway."

He smiled. "I hope the company was better."

Her smile grew wide and happy.

"I'll make it up to you," he went on cheerily.

"I know you will."

Laughing, Grissom let Sara in to the passenger side, then jogged over to his side. Without wasting time, he turned the engine on and manoeuvred out of the lot, driving quickly but carefully back to Sara's apartment complex. "So," she asked as they neared her neighbourhood, "how did you plan for our date to end?"

Grissom flicked his eyes off the road. "Sorry?"

She shrugged. "You said that this wasn't the end to our date you planned."

The ghost of a smile formed on his lips, and he turned toward her. "Have dinner with me tomorrow, and you'll find out."

* * *

Warrick pulled up at the crime scene when he did. Kits in hands, the two made their way up to Brass pacing, radio in hand, behind the police tape. The police captain's grim face told them everything they needed to know about the ugliness of the crime scene. Brass gave them the all clear, and after a quick update they wordlessly put matching booties and latex gloves on before cautiously making their way inside the house.

Grissom went in first, shining his torch this way and that, making mental notes of what he saw, of what he smelt. Smokers' house was his first thought, which was quickly confirmed when he spotted the burnt-out-to-the-filter cigarette in the ashtray on the kitchen table. The kitchen was a mess of dirty dishes, pans and takeout boxes on every available surface, but his gaze was drawn to an empty wine bottle laying on its side on the floor. He glanced toward Warrick who seemed to have noticed it too.

The lounge was also messy, but there were no outward signs that a crime had taken place there either. Silently, they passed a line of duffel bags on the floor against the wall as they headed for the stairs. A bloody shoeprint on the wooden floor halfway up the first flight was the first sign that a crime had been committed. Grissom pointed to it and as they went up they carefully stepped around it. More were to be found as they rounded the corner, and once again they stepped around them.

The first floor landing was a trail of bloody shoeprints to and from various rooms leading off it, heralding the carnage beyond. They looked into the first bedroom and saw three bodies – one on the floor and one on each bed. All three girls were gagged, with their hands tied behind their backs. All had their throats cut and what looked like multiple stab wounds to the chest. Grissom averted his eyes, scanning the rest of the room for evidence. Then they moved to the second bedroom, finding another body.

"Bound, pants pulled down," Warrick said. "Looks like sexual assault."

Grissom glanced at Warrick and nodded his head. They moved to the next bedroom, finding another body.

"Brass said six girls. That only makes five."

Grissom concurred with a nod. "Okay," he then said in a sigh, decision made. "Warrick, you take bedroom one. I'll do number two. Sara's on her way; she'll take this one."

"Should we call the others?"

Grissom checked his watch. "No. Shift starts in two hours. They can join us then."

They retraced their steps down the landing, and slowly he began his work, carefully, diligently, moving around the small bedroom while he documented everything he saw. He was kneeling next to the bed, looking at the body, deep in thought, when the beam of a flashlight shone into the room.

"My date got cancelled," Sara said.

A smile instinctively forming on his lips, he flicked his light toward the doorway where she stood. "I'm sure he had a good excuse," he said, looking over at her tenderly.

She glanced at him, and he watched as cautiously she picked her steps into the room and shone her light to the dead girl on the bed. "Looks like sexual assault. Bound, pants pulled down."

"Yeah," he said despondently, almost wishing he hadn't been with her when the call had come in so that she wouldn't have to be doing this now.

"Where do you want me?" she asked, refocusing him.

"Next bedroom. There's another body in there."

"Well, that makes five. The dispatch said there were six."

Grissom stood up. "According to Brass, the boyfriend of one of the victims found the bodies. Said there were six roommates, all showgirls. Evidently, one didn't come home."

"She picked the right night."

Grissom nodded. His eyes were soft, full of concern, the silent question in them evident – _are you going to be okay working this case?_ She gave him an imperceptible nod and with a small parting smile turned on her heels and, carrying her kit, walked out of the room. With a sigh, Grissom turned back to the room and his work. He was taking a swab of some blood drops on the carpet when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"Hot scene!" came the sudden shout from Sara next door. "Suspect under the bed!"

"Oh dear god," he gasped, quickly pushing up to his feet and rushing over. "Sara!" he called desperately from the doorway, seeing her down on the floor, her gun pulled, her face bloodied.

Lying down, she put her gun aside and reached under the bed. "Hold on. Victim down!" she called over to him, as Warrick joined his side. "Call an ambulance."

Keeping his eyes on Sara talking to the victim, Grissom used his radio to make the call to dispatch. He watched helplessly as, speaking soothing words, she gently helped the victim out from under the bed and then held and spoke to her while they waited for help to arrive.

Sadly, it wasn't enough. And when it was clear that Cammie had died in Sara's arms, he called off the ambulance, notifying dispatch of the sixth victim, then put his radio away and stared powerlessly at Sara still holding Cammie to her. His heart broke for her and what he knew she was going through right then. She looked so sad and downcast, almost broken, that he wanted nothing more than to kneel down beside her, wrap his arms around her and take her away from all this horror.

As he stood there, rooted to the spot and powerless to help, all he could think about was the fact that he was the one who had put her at harm's way, that she could have been hurt or even killed and it would have been his fault. He had sent her to process the room without checking it was clear first, without checking that she'd be safe. His team's safety was his responsibility. Sara's safety and wellbeing was his responsibility. If the victim had been the suspect they were looking for, and Sara had come to harm, he'd never have forgiven himself.

Warrick said something to her he didn't catch, and Sara nodded her head. Then he clapped Grissom gently on the shoulder and returned to his crime scene. Sara looked up and met his gaze dead on. He saw tears hovering there, her heartbreak over what had just happened clear to see. His expression softened with love and tenderness, his gaze became probing, and she turned away.

Looking carefully around his bootie-clad feet, he stepped closer and crouched down beside her. A quick glance over his shoulder told him they were alone and he touched his latexed hand to her shoulder comfortingly. As her supervisor it was the closest to her he could allow himself to be.

"Sara," he called gently.

"I'm fine," she pre-empted without looking at him, her voice trembling.

He knew she'd refused to go home if he suggested it and so he didn't.

"Poor wine," she then said, and turned toward him questioningly. "That's what she said, isn't it? Poor wine?"

He opened his mouth, shook his head. "I'm sorry; I didn't hear."

Sara's face fell. "What could she mean?"

He shrugged his shoulder powerlessly. "I don't know." He squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "But we'll figure it out, okay?" Closing his eyes, he dropped his voice and leaned his face close until his forehead almost touched the side of her head. "Honey, I promise you, we'll figure it out."

And then he did what he should have done from the start. He put his arms around her and held her tightly while she cried. When she was calmer, he helped her lay Cammie down on the floor before guiding her to her feet. She repressed a shiver and quickly, instinctively, he removed his CSI windbreak and draped it around her shoulders.

He lifted his hand to her face, then belatedly, annoyingly, pulled off his latex glove and touched his finger to her bleeding cheek. "You should have that looked at."

Sara gave her head a shake, and he removed his hand. "I need to…huh…" Her head shaking again, she pushed past him. "I need to…speak to Brass."

"I'll come with you."

Outside, ignoring the bright lights and many reporters recording their segments for the news, Grissom made a beeline for Brass who stood a little to the side talking to one of his men.

"You said the house was clear," he said, a little too loudly for comfort.

Brass stopped talking and turned around.

Grissom raised a finger in Brass's face. "You said your men had cleared the house."

"I'm sorry, Gil, but—"

"No buts, Jim," Grissom went on through gritted teeth lest they were overheard. "It isn't the first time something like this happens, is it?" He glanced at the officer Brass had been talking to hovering nearby. "You got to get your guys to do better than that. Tonight, you put one of my CSIs in danger."

"Gil," Brass tried, his tone placating, but Grissom was too riled up to listen.

"You put Sara in danger," he went on, talking over Brass.

"Grissom!" Sara snapped from behind him, startling him, and he clamped his mouth shut. "I'm fine, okay?"

When he whipped round toward her, she said nothing more but gave him a dark, warning look. Would he have said too much if she hadn't intervened when she had, he wondered suddenly? Had he said too much already and shown Brass the depth of his feelings for Sara? He looked over at Brass, then back at Sara, and bit back his retort.

He was angry. He was angry at Brass for not clearing the house, but at himself too for not checking properly and unwittingly putting Sara's life in danger. Brass had said six girls, and he should have questioned it when he'd only found five bodies. His head shaking, he turned on his heels and stormed back into the house.

He always maintained that they should never let cases become personal, but this one did. For the both of them. Sara needed a resolution as much as he did. He knew she'd only find peace when the killer was behind bars. She worked damn hard to solve the case – they all did – determined to find the killer and get closure for the six victims and their families.

For the next week, they didn't see much of each other at all, not outside of work anyway, both working long hours and keeping their conversations case-related. When he tried to talk to her, ask how she was, she would just reply that she was fine, not to fuss, and steer their talk back to work. She wasn't keeping her distance, not as such. She just needed space and time, and he was happy to give both to her.

* * *

"I held his hand," Sara said, her tears falling freely down her cheeks, turning away from the TV screen. She glanced back at Grissom helplessly. "Just like I held hers. I lost perspective."

Grissom remained quiet. She was right, of course, she had lost perspective, but she wouldn't be the Sara he loved if she didn't, and he wasn't about to remonstrate her about it. Instead, he raised his hand and gently brushed his knuckle to her cheek, wiping off her tears. At that moment in time, it didn't matter who happened past the breakroom and saw them. She needed him, and he was there for her. She turned to look over at him, and it was only because he was worried of crowding her that he didn't wrap his arms around her.

When she gave him the nod, he placed his hand in the small of her back and wordlessly guided her out of the breakroom. His hand instinctively moved up her back to her shoulder until his arm was firmly around her as they walked out to the hallway and turned the corner. They paid no attention to the female janitor watching them leave as she mopped the floor in the back of the hallway.

"You want to go back to mine?" he asked, as they stepped out into the bright sunshine.

Mustering a wan smile, Sara nodded her head. They left her car in the CSI parking garage and wordlessly picked up Hank from the sitter's before heading back to his place. There, he made straight for the bathroom where he ran her a bath while tiredly she got undressed, Hank worriedly circling at her feet. When she stepped into the tub, carefully lowering herself into the warm water, he moved to the kitchen and made them mugs of sweet tea.

He unlocked and opened the back door so Hank could go out, refilled his bowls. Then he carried the teas back to the bathroom, gently closing the door on a whining Hank. They'd make it up to him later. Sara's head was thrown back, her eyes closed. She looked drained, but calm and peaceful. He placed her mug on the edge of the tub and slowly sat down on the floor, with his back against the tub, nursing his.

"Thank you," she said, her hand coming to rest on the back of his head.

He leaned back toward her hand. "You okay?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"I will be." She let out a long breath, cast her gaze forward to the wall. "I wish I'd gotten there sooner, you know? Maybe if I'd found her earlier, got help to her earlier, she'd have made it."

"Sara, no," he cut in in a whisper, turning fully toward her. "You can't do that to yourself." He set his mug down on the floor, then reached for her hand that was resting on her folded leg and entwined his fingers through hers. His shoulder lifted in a shrug when she looked over to him. "You were there for her in the end, Sara. She didn't have to die alone."

She averted her eyes and gave a long sigh.

"You can't blame yourself. If anything," he went on, " _I_ was there, hell I checked the room and I didn't see her. _I_ should have found her." He shrugged. "She held on long enough to give you – to give us – enough information so we could catch the guy. And we did, Sara. Thanks to you, we did."

Sara gave a small, unconvinced smile and nodded her head. "It doesn't make it any easier."

His returning smile was soft and tender. He gave her hand a squeeze. "I know."

She dropped his hand and reached for her mug, took a cautious sip of the cooling beverage. He followed suit, then gave a sudden chuckle.

"What?" she asked, frowning.

His smile widened. "It's nothing. Just a thought."

Her frown deepened. "And you're not going to share it?"

He shrugged, tried to suppress his smile and school his features, but in vain. "I want you to move in here with me and Hank," he said when she pulled a face at him. "Permanently."

She cocked a brow. "You _want_ me?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "If you want to, of course. You spend more time here than at your apartment anyway. And no," he pre-empted, "It wasn't a complaint. Quite the opposite, in fact, or I wouldn't be asking."

She paused. "You weren't asking," she deadpanned. "More like…telling."

A smile tugging at his lips, he shrugged again. "So?"

Shifting up in the water, she turned fully toward him. Her nipples peeked just above the bobbing water, temporarily distracting him. "What about work?" she asked, and he refocused sharply.

"What about work?" he repeated matter-of-fact. "Just ask your super to redirect your mail here. Shouldn't be a problem."

"And the guys?"

He paused. "Maybe it's time we told them."

"Gil—"

"Sara," he cut in enthusiastically, anticipating her argument, "My month away taught me a few things. First, that CSI is a job, a job and nothing more, which I could leave behind if I chose to. Second, that you're more important – that _we're_ more important – than it. And the other night…at the crime scene, I realised something else. You could have gotten hurt. You could have gotten killed, and that through my carelessness." He pinched his lips, let out a short breath. "The thought that I could have lost you…" He gave his head shake. "Anyway, I realised that time's precious, and I want us to spend as much of it together as we can."

Sara's face had softened at his words, and now a smile danced on her lips. "Yes."

He frowned. "Yes?"

"Yes," she repeated steadfastly. "I'll give up my apartment and move here with you."

His face lit up with joy. "Yeah?"

The wide smile remaining on her lips, Sara gave a slow nod of the head and cupping his face with her wet hands reached over to kiss him.

"I still owe you dinner," he remarked, pulling back from her wet kiss.

She smiled. "You do."

"How about some celebratory breakfast instead?"

Sara lowered her hands from his face and stood up suddenly, splashing water all over the place, catching him off guard. He stood up quickly, while she stepped out of the tub, reached for her robe behind the door and then for a towel she handed over to him. Slowly putting the robe on and patting herself dry, she gave him the once over. "How about we get you out of these wet clothes first, huh?"

A slow smile spread across his face.

He didn't need telling twice.

Little did they know that their newfound peace and happiness would all too soon be once again shattered.


End file.
